


Tell Me You Love Me

by TheFreelancerSeal



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Bite-Sized Chapters, Blood and Injury, But Make No Mistaken, Comfort/Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, More Alluded Than Shown, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sexy Times, Short, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 18,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFreelancerSeal/pseuds/TheFreelancerSeal
Summary: Five Words were often Spoken at Different Points of Chrom and Sumia's Life Together; A Collection of Short Pieces On Their Life and Love
Relationships: Chrom/Sumia (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Proposal

They stood side-by-side as the fading twilight cast a soft gold upon the countryside. Away from the eyes of the camp, Chrom watched the ending of the day with Sumia. And though the radiant light of the waning sun was lovely, Chrom found the silvery hair of his bride-to-be far more beautiful. A slight grin spread across his face as he looked towards her. They had come away from their companions to talk, yet neither of them had said a single word.

Chrom watched as Sumia's eyes fell again to the band of gold upon her finger. Only that very afternoon had he offered the ring and his heart to her, but to Chrom, time no longer seemed to pass. He had never known a love such as this before, and it seemed to him that all the world had simply ceased to exist from the moment he had asked Sumia to marry him. He wondered if it was very much the same for her.

"Chrom," Sumia said at last, taking her eyes away from the ring and bringing them to meet him. Her voice was soft and quiet, and Chrom found it curious.

"Yes, Sumia," he replied.

"Tell me you love me."

Her request puzzled him. Did she doubt his love? Did she think herself unworthy of it? Did he not offer more than the crest of his house? Did he not offer his own heart as well? Was that not enough to assure her of his love? Yet, Chrom said none of these things, for he could not say such words to the woman who would be his wife. Instead, his hand gently caressed her smooth cheek. As he met her eyes, Chrom knew just what to say.

"I can do better than that," he said, reaching for the ring on her hand. Gently, he slid the band off her finger. At first, Sumia drew back with confusion clearly written upon her face, but Chrom only smiled as he gently took hold of her hand. When he had first offered it to her, Sumia had donned the band herself, and Chrom could think of only one way to demonstrate his pledge of love and to, one day, wed her.

"I love you, Sumia," said Chrom, as he slid the ring back upon her finger.


	2. Wedding

Chrom surveyed the masses of people gathered in the cathedral of Naga, awaiting the ceremony that was soon to take place. From where he stood before the altar, he saw them jostling and fidgeting impatiently. In truth, he was more than a little impatient himself, but for an altogether different reason. Today was the day he had waited for since his return to Yilsse, the day that had seen him through the loss of Emmeryn, even through the drudgery of his new station as king.

It was the day that he and Sumia would be joined together in wedlock, from now until the end of their lives.

"Your Majesty," said the priest, giving voice to the question Chrom himself held, "if I may ask, where is the bride?" At first, Chrom said nothing, but as he looked towards the door, a small spark of realization lit in his mind.

"I think I know," he said, partially to the priest but mostly to himself, as he hurried down the aisle.

Moments later, he was standing in front of the room where the bride would make herself ready, and he found the door tightly closed. Chrom knocked lightly on the wood.

"Sumia," he called. Silence met his ear in reply, and he knocked again. "Sumia," he repeated. "I know you're in there."

"Please Chrom, just give me a minute," came the voice of his beloved. Her voice, almost a frantic pleading, did not go undetected by the man standing in front of her chamber.

"What's wrong?" Chrom asked.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. "I'll be there soon. Besides, it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

"I don't believe in luck, Sumia," he replied. "Now, please let me in." Chrom heard nothing at first, not even the sound of footsteps. His thoughts drifted between knocking again or jokingly threatening to have Vaike break the door down, and Chrom was certain he could. He had no need to consider either course as the door opened. As his eyes fell upon Sumia wearing her grand gown, Chrom could not help but feel overcome by her beauty, though the look of distress upon her face saddened it.

"What is it, Sumia?" he asked.

"I can't do this, Chrom," she answered quickly. "I can't go out there in front of the whole kingdom. I'll trip; I know I will."

Chrom let out a grateful, yet inaudible sigh relieved to know that was all that concerned his beloved. Sumia continued to pace back and forth as words from the fears of her heart poured from her mouth, and all the while, he simply listened.

"Chrom, tell you love me," Sumia pleaded at last, "even though I'm just a klutz like everyone says." With a smile, Chrom closed the distance between them and placed a tender kiss upon her brow.

"I can do better than that," he said, offering her his arm. "I'll hold you up." With her arm in his, Chrom led her towards the door before turning to her one last time before they would walk down the aisle to take their vows.

"And I do love you, Sumia," said Chrom, "falls and all."


	3. Awakening

The early morning light stirred Chrom awake, but he felt not at all rested. Looking at his side at Sumia, lying entangled beside him, a rather broad grin spread across his face as he thought of the reason. Chrom gently stroked her shoulder, thinking of the previous day. At last, he and Sumia were married, and when nightfall came, he could say they were quite married at that.

The sweet floral scent of her favored bath oil wafted from her hair as Chrom placed his lips upon her head. At his kiss, Sumia softly moaned and stirred. Her eyes met with his, and the same smile he wore formed upon her face as well. Chrom felt lost, so lost, in her eyes that he found himself uncertain of what he should say. His thoughts scrambled to find some suitable words of greeting for his new bride before settling on an altogether common one.

"Good morning, Sumia."

"Good morning, Chrom," his new wife replied softly, resting her head upon his shoulder. Idly but happily, Chrom toyed with one of her silvery violet tresses, and Sumia stroked his chest with her slender fingers. The new king of Ylisse found his heart swelling at her touch. Truly, never had he felt more content than on this very morning. If it were within his power, Chrom would have caused this moment to go on without end.

"Chrom," said Sumia, looking up into his eyes. "Tell me you love me." Her voice carried no need for reassurance; instead, she sounded as if she only wanted to hear him speak those words. Chrom did not answer, at least not with words. Rather, he placed a long, loving kiss upon her brow.

"I do love you," he said at length with a smile, though his expression quickly turned from mere gladness to one of playful mischief. "But I can do much better than that, Sumia," Chrom added with a low and lusty whisper.

A knowing grin curled upon Sumia's lips, and Chrom brought his mouth to her cheek. Her cheeks, her brow, and down to her neck, he dotted with light kisses before returning to her soft lips. Chrom claimed them fully as Sumia pulled him closer. Beneath the bedclothes, his fingers followed the trails they had previously left across his wife's skin, lingering upon every rise, peak, and curve. Sumia moaned his name, and the sound only served to stir him all the more.

A knock at the door, however, ceased any thoughts Chrom currently entertained. When it came again, both he and Sumia groaned at the unwelcome sound.

"Your Majesties," the voice of Frederick began. "Forgive the intrusion, but breakfast is served, and there is much to be done today, milord. I thought I should inform you personally."

Chrom's eyes narrowed, and a low growl of irritation rumbled in his throat. For a moment, he wondered if he could have Frederick stripped of his knighthood, but he merely shook his head. Chrom sighed as he looked down into Sumia's eyes, disappointed but understanding. Still, he wished he could shout his thoughts at the inopportune timing of his knight. Chrom looked towards the door at last.

"Thank you, Frederick. You may go now."

With a second sigh, now one of resignation, Chrom pulled away from his wife. "Tell me you love me," he uttered, knowing this would be but the first of many intrusions. Sumia only giggled and placed her hand upon his cheek.

"I love you, Chrom, even if this will be our life."

Chrom could not resist one final kiss before he rose and dressed. Sumia followed, donning her own royal raiment as well. Even as they left his chambers, Chrom felt blissfully happy, for his wife lingered at his side until his kingly duties compelled them to part.


	4. Eyes

Of all the things a crown would bring, above all ideas of wealth, power or prestige, Sumia hoped her marriage would make others see her with new eyes. At the first sight of her crown that morning before her presentation as queen, her eyes lit up. She was enraptured by the thought that perhaps, for once, someone's first impression of her would be something other than amusement—or incredulity.

Only hours later, Sumia was convinced there was no fool in Ylisse greater than her.

The sting of her own peoples' eyes lingered like embers against her back, never dying or diminishing, even in the safety of her sitting room. From their portraits on the wall, the gaze of the Hero-King Marth and Queen Caeda pressed down on her like weights, and Sumia doubted they found the sight in any way pleasing. Even her own crown mocked her: the diamonds held a chilling stare and sneers of scorn in each glittering facet. With a huff, Sumia hurled the crown at the wall, finding little satisfaction in the crash or clatter that followed. Dropping onto a sofa, the new queen buried her face in her hands. If she could have managed it, she would have screamed, but a sigh was all she could muster.

While she was no stranger to eyes of frustration, pity, and even rejection, none could compare to the eyes of the Ylissean court. The eyes of the Risen, pulsing red with the Fell Dragon's hate, held more compassion than those belonging to the noblemen and ladies. How could she endure this punishment day after maddening day? How could she stand before gazes so crushing, the smallest of blunders tripled in weight; so withering, her blood could run dry and her bones could crumble like autumn leaves; so piercing, she was as good as naked, her every flaw and imperfection laid bare?

"Sumia," came the voice of her husband. Sure enough, there he stood in the doorway, eyes filling with concern. "Are you all right? That was a pretty bad fall."

She sprang to her feet, wishing of all things he could have mentioned, that would not be one of them.

"I can't do this, Chrom," she said, turning to look out the window, "I just can't face all those people again."

"They didn't say anything."

"They didn't have to. Can you imagine what they must think of me?" Her own eyes stared back at her from within the glass; eyes that wondered how long it would be before he saw her with the same eyes as his court, his ancestors, and his crown; eyes that knew she was unfit to stand in his presence, much less at his side, and eyes that knew the day he realized the full depth of her inferiority would surely come. "Chrom, I'm not worth all of this."

"What are you saying?"

"Look at me. All I do is trip and get in the way. I'm not worth the humiliation. Everyone is going to laugh at you for taking me as your queen."

"I tripped over a pebble, remember."

"And you swore me to secrecy about it too."

"As I recall, you threatened to tell everyone about it if I didn't get any rest."

"Chrom, be serious. The entire kingdom just saw their new queen fall on her face. They know I'm not what a queen should be, and they're right. I'm not graceful or elegant or anything. All I've ever been good for is tripping over nothing, or getting lost on patrol, or setting the camp on fire, or nearly getting stung to death because I was too stupid and grabbed a beehive. You would have been better off marrying someone—"

The next thing she knew, he'd grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, "That's enough, Sumia. Don't ever say anything like that again."

"But, Chrom, it's true. Everyone knows it."

"I don't care. I don't care if they saw you trip over your own feet. I don't care about any of that. You told me to look at you. Well, let me tell you what I see: I see the woman who gives me strength when she's beside me. I see the woman who makes me see the brighter side of things. That's what I see. You think you're not worthy of me? Sumia, if anything, I'm not worthy of you."

Sumia's eyes went wide. She blinked once, and the second time, her vision blurred.

"Oh, Chrom," she murmured, leaning into him, allowing strong arms to embrace her, "tell me you love me."

"I love you, Sumia," he answered, his eyes gentle and tender. "I will love you until the day I die, and every day, I'll show you how you're every bit the woman I see."

She smiled. For him, perhaps she could withstand the eyes of the Ylissean court; with him, perhaps she could learn to see herself through his eyes.


	5. Choice

If fate had allowed Chrom a choice, he would have never chosen a crown. His reign spanned less than a week, and he'd seen enough troubles to last him a lifetime. Chrom could not prevent a few wistful thoughts from floating into his mind as he stared out the window. Out there, among the rolling pastureland washed in the amber of sunset, his old life awaited. Out there, out of the shadow of Ylisstol, was a life free of troubles, save those resolved with his sword. His crown coiled around his head as if to remind him such was not the life of royalty. A royal life was one life bound to countless and constant difficulties. It was the life of his father, of Emmeryn and now, such a life was his.

Worse, it was the only life he could offer Sumia. As he held her, sheltering her from the eyes of the Ylissean court, a weighty sigh passed Chrom's lips. His one desire from the moment he offered her his hand was to provide the sort of life a woman as good as she deserved. He had only to think of the incident in the great hall for proof of how greatly he had failed.

"I'm sorry," he said as he stroked his wife's hair.

Sumia pulled away from his arms, a questioning expression on her face, "for what?"

"For," Chrom waved his hand around, "all this. I'm sorry for the way the court treated you."

"It wasn't your fault, Chrom," she said.

"Yes, it was, Sumia. I can't give you the life you deserve." With a warm hand on his cheek, she gave him a warmer smile.

"You've given me more than I could ever hope for." Chrom only snorted.

"All I've given you is a crown and a life full of troubles. You don't deserve that, but it's all I can give you. Sumia, this will never end. What happened downstairs is just the beginning." Even as her hand withdrew, her smile never faded. She walked past him, and Chrom narrowed his eyes as they surveyed the land, envy rising within him at the sight. His hand clenched. Muttering a curse, he struck the window, but even that brought little comfort.

Out there was the life she deserved; one free of judging eyes and palace gossip. What could he offer that could even compare? Luxury seemed dulled and muted. Power often brought resentment. Privilege came with the price of strict protocol. As for love, if history was any indication, such a thing rarely survived in a palace, much less thrived. Except for King Marth and Queen Caeda, he could think of no king or queen who married for love.

"Chrom, turn around," he heard Sumia say. Doing as she asked, his eyes fell upon the silver crown in her hands. Never once did his gaze leave that cursed ornament as she crossed the room. A shiver ran down his back. The diamonds glared at him; the very same contemptuous stare in his wife's eyes moments before she threw it at the wall. A voice, cold as the metal itself, resonated in his ear, along with the echoing crash.

She would not choose this life; she would not choose him. Why should she? He'd seen what ills came with a royal life and more importantly, so had she. His ears still burned with the whispers he'd caught: what he ate, whom he saw, even the state of his sheets. He spent his days in the company of snakes masquerading as men, using honeyed words to hide their venom. His life consisted of rigid traditions that would test even the most pious of priests. If he found this life miserable, how much more did Sumia?

She stood before him now, "Chrom, I'd be lying if I said I expected all this from marrying royalty." Chrom held his breath, waiting for the hammer to drop; waiting for her to place the crown in his hand and bid him farewell. He would not blame her in the least either. "This past week has been harder than anything I could have imagined, but you shouldn't have to carry the weight of this life alone."

A gasp passed his lips as she placed the crown on her head. His eyes, wide as they were, could not even believe the sight.

"Sumia," he drawled, unable to say anything else.

"I know you think you've given me nothing but troubles, but Chrom, you've given me something I never imagined. You chose me, of all people; someone who isn't anything like what a queen should be. If I'm worth that much to you, how could you be worth any less to me? I know this won't be an easy life, but I want to face it with you; to hold you up just like you did for me."

Chrom stood still for a moment as her words settled over him. Like rain to parched earth, they began to wash his doubts away. Finally, he ran to Sumia, throwing his arms around her too awed and happy to do anything less.

"Tell me you love me, Sumia." She beamed and cupped his face.

"I love you, Chrom. You said I made you see the bright side of things; to me, you are the brightest thing. You are what makes facing those people worth it."

Chrom smiled, his hold tightening. This was not the life she deserved or even the life he wanted, but by the gods, knowing she'd chosen to stand by his side, come what may, would make it worth the living.


	6. Plans

The skies grew gloomy, and with each passing day, the winds blew colder and colder. November was upon Ylisse before Chrom even realized it. How had time slipped by so quickly? He wondered that as he stared out the window. The reconstruction he expected to take only weeks stretched into months, and many times, he thought it would never end. The rustle of a page paused such thoughts. A smile appeared as he glanced over his shoulder at Sumia reclining on her couch, nose buried in some book.

Gods bless her, if not for her at his side, he was certain he'd have gone well and truly mad by now. Through the hours that felt like days and the doubts from his lords or himself, she offered her shoulder, a gentle touch, and sometimes a hard but needed word.

"I was just thinking," he said, never letting one eye leave her.

"About what?" answered Sumia, eyes still fixed to the page.

"It's your birthday soon, isn't it?" His smile grew larger as he considered the perfect way to repay her devotion. Was there any better time than now?

"Three days from now," Sumia peaked up from her book, "you didn't actually forget, did you?"

Chrom chuckled, "Of course not." How could he? For days, Lissa never let him forget the date or to ensure that his gift was as magnificent as possible. He would have told her he knew just the thing, if not for the fact she would have gone straight to her sister-in-law. "I was thinking about the royal villa; how it's been empty and that we might...get away."

Sumia's hand paused mid-turn, and when she looked up, Chrom did not fail to notice the hopeful, but cautious, gleam in her eyes.

"What about the rebuilding?"

"It's as good as done," said Chrom with a wide grin. "I could get a carriage ready tomorrow, and we can settle in. Then, we could spend your birthday together. Aside from a small handful of staff, it would just be us." By now, Sumia's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and the sparkle within them grew in brilliance, just as he hoped. "Do you like the sound of that?"

In less time than it took him to breathe, Sumia sprang to her feet and threw herself into Chrom's arms. His legs wobbled from such force, and if not for his own strength, he was sure he would have tumbled to the floor.

"Oh Chrom, yes," she exclaimed. She kissed him once, twice and then a third time. "Thank you," she breathed between kisses. Chrom smiled, surprised but just in part. "How long could we stay?"

"A week," he said, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, "maybe even two." By now, her eyes could have outshined her crown. He kissed her brow, "happy birthday, my love."

Sumia pulled away all but bouncing around the room. Chrom only watched as she gathered simple dresses and other assorted items, muttering to herself about what she needed. His thoughts had already journeyed to the villa. Like flowers from dormant seeds, images sprouted within his mind of the time they'd lost and the time to reclaim: talks they never had and moments that never were. One particular silk gown in the growing pile of clothes conjured visions of Sumia wearing it. A few images of her wearing nothing except her ring turned his smile a touch lopsided. Perhaps, in addition to more common delights, they could also find time for the delights of marriage.

A heavy knock at the door scattered all notions as autumn leaves to the wind, and a voice Chrom wished not to hear sounded from behind the wood.

"Your Majesties," came the voice of Frederick. Chrom swallowed a curse but a groan escaped. Whatever tidings the knight brought, they were undoubtedly poor. Even Sumia's face held a twinge of worry.

"Come in," Chrom bade. Perhaps, this time was different. Perhaps he came to deliver some unimportant piece of information. It was less than a fool's hope but hope nevertheless. Frederick entered and bowed.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I thought it best to remind you the Plegian envoy will be arriving the day after tomorrow."

Chrom held his breath, hoping he did not just hear what he thought he did, "please tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but 'tis not. We received the missive some three weeks past." Somewhere deep in the crevices of his mind, Chrom vaguely recalled that message; some business about selecting a new king, withdrawing the garrison and resuming their worship of Grima. He glanced over at Sumia, and already, a dull ache settled within his heart.

"Tell them I don't care to see them." He could list any number of unpleasant things he would sooner endure than spend time with an ambassador from that accursed nation.

"With all due respect milord, I cannot. I, too, have little love for Plegia, but we've shed enough Ylissean blood to end one war to incite another. Refusing a diplomat is not done."

"Very well," Chrom half-sighed and half-growled, "see to the preparations." With another bow and a nod, Frederick was gone. For a moment, silence fell over the Exalt's chambers, as Chrom was an entire loss for words. It was all for naught, the plans and hopes, and he cursed his own foolishness.

"I'm sorry, Sumia," he said at last, poor words as they were. She only smiled and pressed her brow to his.

"The kingdom always has to come first," she answered, her voice soft and soothing, "just tell me you love me, and it will be enough. There will be another time."

Chrom nodded, though it hardly seemed enough, "I love you."


	7. Dance

Chrom sighed in relief as the feasting drew to an end. While the food was to his liking, the king of Ylisse could not abide the forced smiles and pleasantries he was forced to provide. The thought that his tailor once earned his wage as a hangman also came to mind as he discreetly tugged at his collar. A low growl of frustration echoed in his throat as he struggled to make his kingly attire more tolerable. Chrom finally sighed in defeat, not merely at his clothes but at the entire day. Glancing over at Sumia, he was certain she felt the same.

This day marked the first year since Chrom had taken Sumia as his wife and queen. He thought back to the morning as they made themselves ready for the day: with a happy lilt in her voice, she had regaled him with ideas of a quiet affair in their quarters, away from the prying eyes of his courtiers; ideas of soft candlelight, his favorite cut of venison, one of her delectable pies, and perhaps a night of wedded bliss. He had found all of those ideas pleasing, but he soon learned from Frederick of plans that had already been made for him: in place of the simple things that Sumia had suggested, they would attend a grand banquet.

Chrom sighed again as his eyes fixed themselves on Sumia: he frowned as he took in her wearied and even saddened expression. He truly pitied his wife. All night, she had endured incessant questions about expectations of heirs, if their marriage had any difficulties, and matters Chrom thought were the concern of none. The sight of her made the king wish he was a commoner and she a common woman. Were they so, he could spare Sumia from the stresses of royalty.

As he watched a few of the lords and ladies rise, however, Chrom realized the worst was yet to come for her. The attenders began to gather in the middle of the floor for a dance, and with but a single glimpse towards his beloved, he could see the fear in her eyes and the worries in her mind. He knew she feared the whispered words and haughty gazes of those who only sought to see their queen shamed. Were it in his power, Chrom would bid her to remain at their table, but the codes of his station would not permit it. And so, taking Sumia's hand, he rose and walked to the floor. Her hand quivered in his, and her face appeared as one climbing the scaffold to kneel before the axe.

Chrom wondered how he could do this to her. How could he subject her to additional scorn? Already, he could see the lords and ladies whispering to each other, and he was certain they were speaking of Sumia as a graceless woman. He was equally certain that his wife counted herself in the same way. By now, they stood in the center of the room, and the king could feel all the eyes upon them.

"Tell me you love me, Chrom," Sumia whispered frantically, "even if I fall and make a fool of myself in front of everyone."

"I can do better than that," he replied softly. "Sumia, follow my lead."

"What do you mean?" asked his wife, and Chrom only grinned in response.

"My lords and ladies," the king began, "I regret to say the queen is unwell."

"She looks fine to me," a nobleman Chrom did not know remarked, but he paid no heed to the words.

"As I said, she is unwell, so I bid you all good evening." And with that, Chrom whisked Sumia out of the grand hall and back to their chambers.

"You know Frederick will be racing for a doctor," said Sumia, though her eyes gleamed with gratitude. Chrom had not ceased grinning at her, and she threw her arms around him in a glad embrace. "So, now that we're here, what do you want to do?"

"Well," Chrom began, lightly stroking her cheek, "I wouldn't have minded that dance."

Sumia only nodded as she placed her hand in his. Though he had to steady her once or twice, Chrom found her more graceful than any woman in the whole of his kingdom.


	8. First

"Chrom, I promise you the city isn't going to blow away."

Sumia's words shook all thoughts from his mind and managed to leave it in a fog. Turning around, he found her sitting on a blanket laid out on the grass, arms folded and a small smirk on her face.

"W-what?" Chrom murmured as he scrambled to recall what he was doing at that very moment. Sumia only shook her head and giggled.

"I asked you to come and sit down, and you just stared off." Slowly, the haze began to lift. An earlier conversation echoed in his ear; plans for an afternoon picnic. With a sheepish grin on his face, Chrom sat beside her, heat filling his cheeks at his forgetfulness. "It is beautiful from here though," Sumia added.

"Yes, it is," Chrom nodded. From afar, Ylisstol never looked more majestic. Mighty walls of white stone rose high around the city, much like the reports and papers surely piling up on his desk. A low hum passed his lips, and he scratched his chin. Had the yields from the southern farms improved? Was it timber or stone the builders requested to fortify the border? What about the land dispute between House Rigwald and House Lagdou?

"Gods above, you're doing it again!" One glance over his shoulder made Chrom grimace. Eyes lacking their usual sparkle stared at the ground, and the scowl she wore reminded him of small clouds over the sun.

"I'm sorry, Sumia," he said with a sigh, "I know it's supposed to be just you and me today. It's just the kingdom..."

One cold, chilling sigh froze any other words on his tongue.

"The kingdom always has to come first," she all but spat, and Chrom's mouth dropped open. Of all the tones he ever expected to hear in his wife's voice, resentment was not one of them. No sooner had she spoke, however, then her expression grew soft, contrite even. "I didn't mean it like that," she sighed. Her face turned a humbled shade of red. "I'm proud of all you've done, Chrom. I truly am."

Chrom could only shrug, still reeling from her outburst, "But?"

"Well..." Sumia began, her face turning a shade redder, "can't a king put...other things first once in a while? Just forget I said anything," she added with another sigh.

"But-"

"It's nothing, Chrom," her words came too quickly for his liking. Sumia reached for the basket beside her, "come on. These boar ribs won't eat themselves." She pulled one from the basket and handed it to him before taking one for herself. The tantalizing scent of pepper and ground mustard set his mouth to watering, but Chrom did not take even a bite.

Other things; whatever could Sumia have meant by that? Oh, he tended to forgo meals and occasionally sleep, but was that enough to cause such an outburst? Whatever it was, it was not as trivial as she would have him think; of that he was certain. What could she have meant, and why did she mention the kingdom?

Something, some awareness deep within his mind snapped, forcing a groan out his mouth. If men were measured by idiocy, he would reach as high as the palace towers. How many times had he put Ylisse before her? If he were to list them all, he would need an entire inkwell; the meals she took without him, the days he gave barely a moment to her, all the nights she went to sleep and then awoke to a cold bed.

"Damn," Chrom uttered, balling his fist and pounding the blanket.

"What? What is it?"

He turned towards her, "Oh Sumia, I am such an idiot."

"Chrom…"

"I've done nothing but ignore you for over a year now."

Sumia shook her head, "the kingdom needed you." Did it? Of all those occasions, how many could have waited? That thought grieved him the most.

"You did too. What can I do, Sumia? How can I make it up to you?" To his surprise, a small but teasing smile appeared on her face.

"Actually, there is something you can do."

"Name it."

"I don't think I can eat all of this myself," she said, lifting the basket. A small moment of silence went by as Chrom took in her words, but before long, a similar smile appeared on his face. He could not keep himself from laughing, and Sumia joined in.

"Tell me you love me, Chrom."

He leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth, "I love you, and I'm going to do much better. I promise."

"Let's just have our picnic first." With a nod, he kissed her again and put Ylisstol and all its troubles to his back. Today was not a day for the concerns of the realm. No, today was a day to relish in the simple pleasures; the sun overhead and the sweet smell of freedom on the summer breeze. More importantly, it was a day to put the woman he loved first as she deserved.


	9. Perfection

Chrom's mind dwelt on one word as he paced around the table. With every step, that one word echoed in his ear along with the thump of his heart. Perfect – he had to make tonight perfect. Nothing less would suffice. After all, Sumia deserved it. Grunting, he tugged at his collar, an iron band squeezing his neck, but he found little relief. The same bond tightened around his chest and every limb, pressing harder by the moment.

And Robin staring at him was of little help; the amused grin he wore, even less.

"Peace, Chrom; you don't have to pace around like you're waiting for your firstborn. I think I did just fine, planning out your little dinner party."

It was difficult to dispute that claim. Of all the feasts he had ever attended, Chrom could not recall an occasion when the great hall looked better. White linen, freshly laundered, dressed the single table, china of the finest quality sat at two places, soft candlelight flickered upon polished silver, bouquets of red, pink, and white provided splashes of color, and by some spell, the flames atop each candlestick burned cobalt and silver – the colors of his and Sumia's hair. His own imagination would have fallen woefully short next to what Robin had devised.

And still, he searched for the smallest of flaws, wishing for Frederick's eyes to spot what his own could not see.

"What if Sumia doesn't like it?" Chrom asked, never pausing. Beneath leather boots, that single thought splintered into two, into four, into eight and many more until he thought his head would burst. "What if she doesn't like the food? What if the musicians play the wrong music? What if-" his words went unfinished as he found himself almost nose-to-nose with his tactician, intent, curious eyes staring back at him. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"Well, I heard Tharja talking about hexes that cause people to change bodies. I just want to make sure you're still you. Maybe I should find Frederick and see how he's acting." Where once Chrom might have found humor in those words, now he only glared. The next thing he knew, Robin stood beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulder. "Look, you're making too much of this. You've already done the hardest things. You proposed," he held up a finger, "you got married and you didn't send Sumia screaming from your room afterward."

"Robin," Chrom sputtered, pushing free of his arm.

"My point is you don't need to worry yourself sick. This isn't your wedding or your anniversary. Hell, I don't even remember you being this nervous at your own coronation. So, why make this dinner harder than it needs to be just because it has a little extra pageantry? Sumia is going to love this." Chrom only sighed. Naga herself could have said those words, and he still wouldn't find any reassurance in them.

"But what if she doesn't?"

"Chrom, she'd love you even if you served bread and water if she knows you're trying for her. You don't actually have to give her the world. She just has to know you would." Before the king could even ask or ponder the meaning of those words, the door opened and Lissa stuck her head in to announce his wife's coming.

"Just don't run off or say anything stupid," she warned before disappearing.

"Good luck," added Robin, giving his shoulder a quick pat before slipping out after the princess.

* * *

The night had proven a pleasing affair; Chrom could not question that. Peering across the table, he nodded to himself, glad to see the awestruck shine in Sumia's eyes had not faded. He leaned back in his chair with a grateful sigh. A rather cheeky grin tugged at his mouth when he thought of her entrance and how she'd managed to leave him well and truly stunned. At the first sight of the gown she wore, rippling layers of lilac falling to the floor, puffy straps sliding off creamy shoulders and a neckline cut just low enough to entice, Chrom stammered and sputtered what were intended as compliments. It had relieved him when Sumia only smiled and kissed his cheek.

To the music of the fiddle, flute, and tambourine, they had feasted on cool potato soup, warm crusty bread, seasoned cuts of boar, venison, and even a stuffed chicken. Chrom could still picture the white cheese oozing from the bird. Though he had little taste for royal fare, even Chrom admitted the food was wonderful to the point where he doubted he had the stomach for more. Sumia, however, took a few spoonfuls of the assorted berries slathered in thick sweetened cream and sipped her brandy. Though the notes had faded and the court musicians had taken their leave, the room still rang with their songs; some, Chrom guessed, famed romantic ballads. He would ask later.

Yes, the night was, without a doubt, greater than anything he'd expected. Still, it was not perfect, lacking only one thing.

"Sumia," he said, "tell me you love me."

From where she sat, she offered him a smile, one simple perfect smile, "I love you, Chrom."


	10. Magic

Once upon a time but not long ago, Chrom would have thought it an ordinary summer's eve, no different from any that came before or would come after. Anyone he could have asked would have said the same and rightfully so. Twilight was giving way to the night, the summer winds blew fair, and the first few fireflies dimmed and flared as they always did.

And yet as he walked through the palace garden arm-in-arm with Sumia, he found the evening was not ordinary in the least. Something lingered in the air, something strange, something wondrous. Each passing breeze carried a scent sweeter than any flower his gardeners planted. The world around them, growing darker by the moment, appeared as bright as dawn if not brighter. But it was more, oh, much more. With every step, Chrom was convinced he no longer walked within the walls of his garden or even within the borders of Ylisse. He could say with certainty it was as if he wandered among the stars.

And Sumia - by every deity he could swear, it was as if he'd laid eyes on her for the first time.

By now, they'd found a stone bench nestled beneath a spreading tree. Sumia's eyes darted around, watching the world pass by. Chrom, however, kept his gaze fixed upon her; he could do nothing else. What would it feel like to run his fingers through her hair? Did her skin feel as soft as it looked? What might her lips taste like, as sweet as her rhubarb pie, perhaps?

"Oh Chrom, Sumia cooed as a firefly came near her nose, "isn't it magical tonight?"

The word brought a smile to his face. Magic, she said. Could any word sound more fitting than that? After all, what else could brighten the world in which he lived or bring the heavens down to him? What else could make the woman who had shared his bed for over a year suddenly appear so new, so unfamiliar, so unexplored? His peers would have told him he'd consumed too much wine at dinner but oh, how wrong were they.

"Yes," he said, never taking his eyes off her. "You are."

Sumia turned to him. "What?"

"Wherever you go, Sumia, it's magic." She looked away, but Chrom's hand brought her eyes back towards his, eyes that made his chest flutter, eyes that drew him closer and closer. The heat of her cheek beneath his palm set a similar warmth blossoming within him, and when her hand covered his, her touch sent a tingle through his skin. His lips drew closer. Whatever spell she had cast over him, he hoped it would not be broken with a kiss as in all the stories.

"Tell me you love me," Sumia whispered as their lips hovered only inches apart.

"I love you," he said softly just before their lips met in a kiss that Chrom was sure even made time halt at that very moment.

Something lingered in the garden that night, something wonderful, something beautiful, something, magical.


	11. Petals

Dozens upon dozens of rose petals stared back at Chrom as he stared at his bed, petals bearing the hands of Robin and Lissa. Oh, beyond a doubt, this was their scheme; the note slipped to him during dinner was all the proof he needed. How could they do this? How could they interfere in this manner? Regarding his marriage bed, he neither wanted nor welcomed aid of any kind, and if he had them in the room at this minute, he would have told them so.

Among the disbelief, frustration, and indignation, one thought stuck out in his mind, just as a single petal, pink and pale, caught his eye among the many reds.

Why didn't he think of any of this himself? Why hadn't he suggested an evening walk or whispered amorous words in Sumia's ear, offering a night of wedded pleasures? He should have; such things came naturally to other men just as the color red to a rosebush. At first, he believed himself inexperienced or overwhelmed by the drudgery of his crown. Was that so, or was a mind as clever as Robin's required to surprise his wife?

"Sumia," he called over his shoulder, his thoughts scattering like loose petals in a gust of wind. Whatever the reason, it mattered little now, and he supposed only one thing could be done. He would tell her everything.

"Just a minute. I'm almost ready for bed," came a soft, sultry purr that sent tingles through each spot on his face her lips had earlier touched. A smile, wry but pained, curled upon his lips. Did he truly need to tell her? Did it do any harm to allow Sumia one romantic fantasy, to allow her to believe this night was of his making entirely?

No, she deserved to know the truth

"Chrom," that same voice caressed his ears again, setting them both aflame, "turn around."

He did, and his mouth dropped open.

Rose-red silk fell loosely over Sumia's body, the color contrasting well to her pale skin of which he could see much. Wispy straps struggled to hold up a plunging neckline that left little to imagine. Though her gown brushed the floor, long, lacy slits offered an unimpeded view of her legs. Ruffles gave the appearance of petals clothing her rather than fabric, and thoughts blossomed within his mind, feeding the flame growing deep within his belly - a flame that thrilled him and caused his earlier resolve to wilt.

Quickly, he crossed the floor to Sumia. Each breath rose in volume, and each step sounded like a thunderclap in his ear. He would tell her. If she would still have him even then, all the better, but he had to tell her another man had made the bed they would lie in.

"What haven't you gotten undressed?" Sumia asked as he stood in front of her. By whatever strength he had, somehow Chrom managed to keep his eyes level with hers, tempting as it was to let his gaze fall to her chest.

"Sumia," he swallowed. "There's something I need to tell you. I -" A single finger pressed to his mouth silenced him.

"Chrom, tell me you love me," her voice straining, "tell me you love me in every way you can." Her words lit a spark within his mind, and in his mind's eye, he saw the pink petal, now more brilliant than the reds. And he realized while he'd not had Robin's thoughts, he had no need for them. Oh, he would tell her but not tonight. Tonight, he would love her as only he could; he would be that single pink petal among all the others.

And any lingering thoughts withered and died.

He kissed her finger, her palm, and her wrist before withdrawing her hand, and his hungry lips met hers. His hands ran up and down her arms before tangling in her hair. Urged by her moan, he deepened the kiss. Breaking away, he brought his mouth to her neck, her throat, and she shuddered.

Two fingers slipped beneath one strap, and as his eyes found hers again, an idea sprang to mind.

"May I?" A rosy tint filled Sumia's cheeks, and she nodded. With a quick nod of his own, he slowly slid the strap down, his lips following its trail. Her arm slipped through the loop, and Chrom did the same with the other strap. Sliding her gown to the floor, he again followed behind with his lips.

Content with the sight of red silk pooling around her feet, Chrom stood and returned to her mouth. Slender, eager fingers relieved him of his clothes between kisses. He pulled Sumia close, moans joining as every curve and contour of her body pressed against his skin. His hands roamed freely - across her hips, her back, and wherever they wished. She did the same, embers following her fingertips. The flame within his stomach burned white-hot, and gods, it traveled lower.

Breaking free of her lips, he scooped Sumia into his arms, carrying her to the bed. He paused for a moment, eyes drinking in the sight of his wife, lying among the rose petals, aglow with love and longing. Her arms opened wide to welcome him, and climbing into bed, his hand found hers. Their fingers entwined, and he brought his mouth to her ear.

"I love you, Sumia," he whispered.

And as they slipped beneath the sheets, dozens upon dozens of rose petals fluttered to the floor, their purpose accomplished.


	12. Announcement

By the soft light of candles, Chrom sat at his lonely desk. The words on the parchment blurred. His head throbbed as he tried to keep the words straight. Since sunset, he'd sat here, reading case upon endless case, and he rubbed dry, weary eyes.

"I wonder if I could give them each a sword and tell them to kill each other for it," he grumbled, as he pored over the document. "Why is it that every landowner, magistrate, and nobleman has to make me their arbiter over the smallest things? Gods, I could just..." finding the words would not come, Chrom settled for a low growl, which matched the periodic rumble from his belly. "At least this is the last one for today," the king remarked rubbing his brow. He stared and stared at the page before roughly pushing it off to the side. Chrom shook his head and sighed, finding he lacked the patience to deliver anything that resembled wisdom in even the smallest measurement.

"They can keep until morning," he declared finally. Standing, Chrom turned to see Sumia standing behind him, and he wondered how he could have failed to hear her as she entered. He also had a fair guess of why she had come. A smile formed on his face. "I'll be along in a moment; you go on to bed."

"Chrom," Sumia began. Her voice seemed anxious but not at all distressed. He thought the tone strange, as if she bore some wondrous news and could not contain it. "I need to talk to you."

"I promise I won't skip a meal next time," he replied with a dismissive wave, "and I promise I won't stay up so late. I just can't help it sometimes." He began to walk past his wife, but he didn't hear the sound of her footsteps as he expected. "Well, let's both get on to bed then."

"Chrom, I'm pregnant," she exclaimed.

"Oh, I see..." The king stopped mid-stride, unsure if he heard what he thought. Slowly, he turned back around, and he noticed the joyous gleam Sumia's eyes, tempered in some small degree by uncertainty. "What did you say?"

"I'm pregnant." Chrom felt his mouth drop at his wife's news as the news struck him like a battering ram.

"Are you sure?" he asked hastily, still unable to comprehend it. Sumia nodded as already curled lips spread wider.

"I haven't bled, and the other signs have already started." The king could only stand frozen as those two words repeated. He was going to be a father.

"Oh gods," he managed at last. He ran to Sumia, throwing his arms around her." Oh, this...this is...we're having..." To his surprise, he felt several sobs shake her.

"I tried to tell you so many times today," she said with a slight tremble in her voice and happy tears in her eyes. "Chrom, tell me you love me."

"Love you," he replied between heavy breaths. "Sumia, I love you so much." Looking her in the eyes, he could already see the telltale glow of a woman with child. "I'll do so much better than that. I promise I'm going to be the best husband and father I can be. Whatever you need, I'll give it to you." He tightened his embrace, as if he were protecting her from all that lurked in the darkness around them.

"We're having a baby," she whispered. Chrom nodded, finding his own eyes moist.

"We're having a baby."


	13. Apology

Chrom sighed as he glanced over his shoulder at Sumia. His wife kept her back to him as she slept. Though only a few inches kept them apart, it felt as a gaping chasm. Five days, he counted. Five days since they last said more than a few words to each other, and what words they had exchanged, Chrom wished he could forget. While he had learned that such drastic changes in mood were common among pregnant women, the king found this most recent shift worst of all. The fault was entirely upon him.

Again, that day echoed within his mind, when Sumia seemed particularly distressed and the day drew far longer than any other he could bring to mind.

_"I'm lonely, Chrom."_

_"What do you mean you're lonely?"_

_"I mean you're never around for me. Chrom, I just...I just want you to be here with me."_

_"Well, I can't be here with you. Can't you get Lissa or Cordelia to keep you company?"_

_"I don't want either of them; I want my husband, especially now. Chrom, I'm in my seventh month. I just need you to be with me."_

_"Look, Sumia, I would like to be here with you, but you don't understand. I have to rule a kingdom. I have important matters to tend to. Just today, someone came to court pleading for his brother's life. Do you know what that means, Sumia? I have to decide whether a man lives or dies! I can't ignore my duties just because you want me here."_

_"You don't think our relationship is important? Chrom, I'm not asking you to ignore your duties. I'm just asking for you to be there for me, even if it's just a little while."_

_"Well, what do you expect me to do?"_

_"I don't know. Chrom, I just want you to be here. Do you know how scared I am, being a queen and a mother_ _? I just want to talk to me, hold my hand, do something to let me know you're there for me. Ask me how I'm feeling then listen to me. I'd even be happy if you rubbed my back when it hurts, and it hurts, Chrom. Everything hurts. I just want you to be my husband."_

_"Gods, Sumia, when are you going to realize that our marriage is not like those books you read?"_

Those last words and the hurt in his wife's eyes continued to haunt him. He wished he could retract not just what he said but how he had said it. Sumia had not even shared his bed that night, and Chrom had lingered awake until his eyes could no longer bear to remain open. He knew, even then he knew, that he should not have spoken so harshly to a woman whose only offense was confessing her need. The sound of whimpering met his ear just then. Flying out of bed, he lit a lamp and ran to her side. Indeed, tears streamed down her face.

"Oh, Chrom," she said, choking back a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No, Sumia," replied Chrom, pressing his hand to her quivering lips, "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"But-"

"No, listen to me," he began, brushing a tear away, "I know I haven't been much of a husband to you. You deserve much better than what I've given you."

"You're a king first, Chrom. I should've understood that." Chrom shook his head.

"I should have considered you more. You've made me the happiest man alive, and knowing you're carrying my child has made me even happier. If I could trade my crown for a life as the husband you deserve, I would do it." At first, the only sound was silence, and Chrom frowned when he saw Sumia's eyes fill with tears again.

"Chrom, tell me you love me." Chrom even felt a few tears himself at her words; in her watery eyes, he could see forgiveness shining through. Again, he gently wiped away her tears before kissing their tracks.

"I do love you, Sumia, and I can do better than that." Rising, he threw aside the bedcovers and helped her sit up. "What hurts right now?"

"What?"

"You told me everything hurts, and it's time I start being your husband. So, what hurts the most right now?"

"My feet, I guess," Sumia answered with a shrug, as if she still could not believe the question. Chrom smiled and sat down. Placing her swollen feet in his lap, he gently began to rub. Though his hands were rough and hardened, one glace at Sumia's face told him she was thoroughly enjoying his ministrations. He was glad to hear her contented sighs. Most of all, he considered himself fortunate to have married a woman as good as Sumia. Truly, Chrom thought he never deserved her.

After a time, he moved on to her legs, determined to ensure she would sleep without any aches or pains this night. More than anything, he was glad neither he nor she felt the pain of a wounded heart. He hoped they would not feel it again.


	14. Kick

A soft but sudden cry brought Chrom to his feet, and the sight of a grimace on Sumia's face struck him like a bolt fired right into his chest, to say nothing of her hand resting against her swollen belly.

"Is it time?" the question sputtering as he asked it. Should he run for the midwife? Should he stay and send someone else? Should he do anything at all? His hands shook, and as for his mind, it was all a whirl, like the violent summer windstorms. Even though he knew this day was coming, he never imagined it would come this soon.

Sumia's smile puzzled him. It looked far too bright for a woman about to give birth, and to his great surprise, she started laughing.

"No, it's not yet," she replied, her hand never leaving her stomach. With her other hand, she waved to him. "Come here, Chrom."

"But-"

"Just come here," she repeated, waving again. With quivering steps, he did as she asked, though the earlier sight and sound still lingered in his eyes and ears. Sumia took his hand, guiding it to the bulge. At first, all he noticed was the warmth of his wife's hand against his own and her linen gown beneath his fingers. What was supposed to happen? He wondered if time was even slowing down as he waited for whatever had caused his wife to cry out as she did.

Then he felt it; a tiny foot kicking at his palm. Chrom swallowed, his throat dry, as a multitude of sensations burst within him all at once; awe, joy, wonder and even some disbelief.

"Oh gods, Sumia is…is that our baby?" His own voice sounded distant to his ears as well as his wife's giggling. Whatever she said, he could not hear. With each new kick, images, wispy and wonderful pictures, floated through his mind. A boy stood at his side, his head standing no higher than his father's knees. Then, he held a sword of his own, and the two prepared to spar. Finally, Chrom beheld a young man accepting the sacred blade, _Falchion_. Another kick, harder than the last, it seemed, struck his hand. "Well, he'll be a strong one," the words tumbling from his mouth, "yes, he will."

A sigh shook him from his reverie. Sure enough, his wife's happy smile had faded, and a colder line took its place.

"What is it, Sumia?" She shook her head and turned her eyes towards some corner of the room, away from him.

"It's nothing." His breakfast sat like a boulder in his stomach at her words, which were clearly untrue.

"What is it?" he persisted.

"Nothing," Sumia snapped. He winced at her tone, withdrawing his hand as if he held it to fire. What in Naga's name had he done this time? He bit his tongue to avoid asking that very question. With a sigh of his own, he headed back to his chair, certain another few days of silence awaited him.

"Chrom," she called before he had even taken a step. Her voice fell soft, quiet, and almost regretful for her earlier outburst. "How would you feel if our child...wasn't a boy?

"What?" he stammered.

"I know how much you want a son. For almost eight months, that's all you've ever said, 'He'll be a strong boy.' And I would love to give you the son you want; the son Ylisse wants. But Chrom," she brought her eyes towards his, "what if it's a daughter? Please, please just tell me you love me, even if I don't give you the son you want; if I don't give the kingdom a prince."

"Oh, Sumia..." he drawled, quite in shock that she should worry so. Worse still, it shamed him to know he had caused it. "Sumia, I promise you, I love you, "he laid his hand against her belly, "and I will love this baby. Don't ever doubt I will, no matter if it's a son or a daughter." He dropped to his knees, placing a lengthy, loving kiss to the swell, earning a squeal from his wife. He held his lips to that spot until the baby kicked again; harder this time for certain.

"I think _she_ liked that," Chrom remarked with a small chuckle. Sumia nodded, returning his hand to her stomach, covering it with her own.

"Yes, I'm sure _he_ did."


	15. Deliverance

Chrom paced fretfully across a lonely balcony. Each breath came loudly through his nose. His arms rose and fell, sweeping nervous hands through his hair for no reason other than habit. The king felt his back stiffen as he thought he heard shrieks of pain, and he glanced down the hall. It was foolish, and he knew it. Still, he could not help but wonder if he would see someone coming towards him. Chrom both hoped and feared for it. By chance, he looked towards the western skies: a soft orange glow formed across the horizon, and above it, he saw shades of indigo dotted with tiny specks of white; it was nearly nightfall. The king grew pale as he numbered the hours he had walked this path. Unless he miscounted, the number came to seven.

"How long does it take?" he asked the twilight.

"Relax, Chrom," said Robin, who sat just inside. "Sumia will be fine."

Chrom discretely snorted in disbelief, not at Robin's words, but at his demeanor. He wondered if the tactician could remain so calm if it were his first child. Even hours later, he could not rid himself of the image of his beloved Sumia clutching her swollen belly and a few servants whisking her away. Likewise, the sound of her cries resounding through the halls constantly filled his ears.

"Look, wearing a trench in the floor isn't going to make the birth go any faster. Why don't you sit down? I'll even get you a brandy to take your mind off it."

"No thank you, Robin," replied Chrom, shaking his head and never straying from the path he walked.

"What about a good pint of beer? That's more your taste." The king only shook his head again. "Well, at least eat something," Robin said in exasperation. "You haven't had a bite since this morning."

Chrom could not think of food, and his thoughts ran wild, far too wild; even liquor would not quiet them. Was it too soon? The timing seemed wrong. Was the birth going well? He prayed to Naga it was. Was the midwife capable? For her sake, he hoped so. Chrom froze suddenly as he recalled one of Sumia's maidservants dying in childbirth only one week ago. What if Sumia should die now? Before his eyes, he saw his wife's lifeless form soaked in blood, her blood. Would their child die as well? His mind conjured up two coffins, one large and one much too small, lying in the family tomb before the doors were shut and darkness claimed his queen and child forever.

Sweat formed on his brow, and his pacing resumed, now more ill at ease than earlier. When would he know? Gods, when would he know? When the sound of approaching feet reached his ear, Chrom turned quickly towards the hall. It was not the midwife, but one of the younger women who assisted her. With only a few strides, he ran to her and seized her by the arms.

"How is my wife?" he asked without even realizing the force within his voice. To Chrom, it seemed the seconds stretched into minutes, into hours, into even days as he waited for her answer.

"The queen is well, Your Majesty." Chrom breathed many deep sighs containing untold praises and unspoken gratitude.

"Thank you," he managed to say in between his own labored breaths. "Thank you."

"You aren't the first father I've met, Your Majesty, but please, with all due respect, let me go." Chrom only now noticed the look of shock upon the girl's face, and he withdrew his firm grip. "Now," she added, "why don't you go see your-"

Chrom sped down the hall before she could even finish, leaving Robin and the attendant behind.

He found Sumia reclining on the bed. Her sleeveless garment clung to her body, her face shimmered with the sweat of labor, her cheeks held a tinge of red, and her eyes, her radiant eyes, looked weary but indescribably joyful. In her arms, Chrom could see a tiny bundle of white blankets. Quickly, he crossed the room to his wife's side, and gazed at the tiny face and wisps of cobalt hair.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Sumia uttered, holding the baby to her breast. For a moment or two, Chrom found himself entirely lost in the sight of his newborn child; his little princess. At last, he looked to his wife, and he lightly kissed the top of her head.

"You both are," he softly remarked.

"Chrom," whispered his wife. "Tell me you love me. I just need to hear it."

"Oh, Sumia, I do love you. I love you more than I could ever say; both of you," the king added with a second glance towards the baby. His fingertips lightly brushed his daughter's cool skin, and a warm, thankful smile spread across his face. He could not begin to describe how happy he truly was at this moment. And when Sumia slipped into the sweet comforts of sleep, Chrom found himself unable to leave the sight of his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib, not even to join his wife in slumber.

"My precious little Lucina," he whispered.


	16. Respect

Chrom hefted his sparring sword, finding it heavier than he remembered. He supposed that two years of peace and what most would consider easy living had played a part in it. He snorted as he thought of all the nearly sleepless nights and wondered how anyone could think of a king's life as easy. Still, the memory of the sword remained with him, and he considered it fortunate. If the messenger from Ferox was indeed a herald of another conflict, the king thought it easier to retrain his body than his mind

"Are we going to train, Chrom?" Sumia asked from across the training circle. Clothed as she was in a simple tunic, Chrom could spot the many changes brought to her body, and the thought of two years without her lance in hand and then carrying their child brought a rueful cringe to his face. Could she fight? Could she ride her winged mount? He began to wish he had never consented to her company. He set his sword down and crossed the room. Likewise, his wife set her lance on the floor.

"Sumia, I don't suppose there's any way I can get you to change your mind." To the king's dismay, she only shook her head.

"We've been through this. I've found a wet-nurse for Lucina. I'm having my armor reforged, and I'm going out later to find a new pair of boots. I'm going with you tomorrow."

"But, Sumia, you haven't even healed from the birthing yet," her husband objected. "We could be on the brink of war with Valm." Chrom looked her in the eye and took her hand. "Please, stay here where it's safe."

"Chrom," she pleaded, "please don't doubt me."

"You know I never have. This isn't about doubt; it's about the woman I love going flying into battle when she's not ready." He gripped Sumia's shoulders. "Stay here, recover, watch over our daughter." His wife's eyes squeezed into angry slits, and she swatted his hands away.

"You expect me to sit here with my feet up while you're sleeping on the ground? You expect me to spend my days surrounded by servants while you're surrounded by the Valmese army? I can't do that, Chrom."

"Well, I can't let you risk your life, Sumia."

"How would my staying here be any better?" she protested. "I can't watch you march out of here, and spend every day wondering if you'll come back alive. I can't quiet Lucina when she cries when I'll feel like crying too. I can't lie awake at night thinking you might be dead out there." A weighty sigh left her mouth.

"Chrom, tell me you love me." Tenderly, he cupped her cheeks.

"You know know I do," he replied, caressing her smooth skin with his thumb.

"Then respect me enough to let me come with you. Chrom. If it comes to war, I want to face it by your side. I promise you, if the worst should happen, I'll fly back here so Lucina won't lose us both. She will have her mother, but I want to do what I can to make sure she has her father. For that matter, it's not just her. Ylisse needs her king, and I need my husband."

It made no sense to Chrom, but the way she spoke made his heart swell with pride in the knowledge that he had married such a remarkable woman. He knew now he could not persuade her, and at this moment, he found he no longer wished to try. Instead, he pressed his lips to Sumia's, catching her entirely by surprise.

"I love you, Sumia," he said. "So, pick up your lance, and let's get to sparring. I'm going to make sure both of us make it home alive."


	17. Healing

"It's not a fatal wound," Chrom muttered through the pain. One glance over at Sumia told him exactly what fearful thoughts she entertained as she helped him off the battlefield. He clutched a hand to his chest; hot, sticky blood oozed between his fingers from a shallow slash.

"It still needs to be treated," replied his wife, urgency ringing through her voice like the clanging of swords from the battle. "And I can tell it hurts," she added as she helped lean against the side of a building, "I saw you wince." Chrom furrowed his brow. While he didn't want to admit that the wound ached and burned, he knew it would be a lie to say he felt no pain at all.

"It's just a scratch," he protested. The sound of his own voice made him cringe, as if even he didn't believe it. "And there are others who need more attention." He could still see Ricken's head almost falling to a Valmese axe, Tharja's side torn open by a swordsman's strike, and poor Frederick shot off his horse.

"I don't care," Sumia exclaimed. Chrom knew her words were not as heartless as they sounded; she valued the lives of all her comrades, but he was her beloved husband after all. "Keep pressure on that. I'll be right back."

Chrom found himself smiling at her needless worry as she scampered away. While he was in some pain, he could tolerate it, and the wound itself was hardly cause for concern. If anything, the wound to his pride was worse. His carelessness caused him to approach the battle like any other, but the soldiers of Valm fought like men possessed. All he could remember was a quick flash, a sudden sharp sting, warmth, and the smell of his own blood. Still, Chrom had fought on, and the fact that they had managed to repel the invaders from Feroxi lands brought some sense of relief. The thought that his assailant had fared much worse, with his head now lying on the ground was, also of comfort.

The pain lessened more when he thought of Sumia, atop her winged horse, swooping down to fight at his side. She was entirely different when she fought beside him, and he had to admit, his own strikes carried more ferocity as well.

"What a woman I married," Chrom muttered, smiling at the thought. The sound of frantic feet reached his ear, and he saw Sumia all but running towards him, clutching a staff. "Do you know how to use that?" he asked as she held it over him.

"I need to get that healed," she said. Chrom knew little of magic, but he did know the danger it posed when miscast. Tales abounded of even the simplest of spells cutting short the lives of inexperienced but promising mages, to say nothing of the lives of those nearby. Healing staves, from what little he knew, required years of training, and now his wife was preparing to use one.

"Maybe you should just let a healer tend to that," he objected, hoping that Sumia would not put her life in danger for the sake of his.

"If I don't heal it, it could get worse," answered Sumia as she held the staff over his chest. Chrom watched her eyes tighten, but no light came from the crystal. Her face squeezed. Her expression contorted. Her jaw grew taut, and he worried she might break a tooth at the very least. Her hands quivered, and a vein bulged in her brow. Still, no light appeared. It seemed she dared not even breathe, and Chrom found himself holding his own breath. He feared what might happen if he broke her concentration, but the fear that such concentration would overwhelm her body was greater. Finally, when he thought he could stand no more, a faint glimmer of blue light appeared. It grew, and flowed into his wound, drying blood and forming new flesh.

A weak smile appeared on her face, and she swayed on her feet, the staff clattering to the ground. Chrom was on his feet just as Sumia began to leave hers. Strong arms caught her, keeping her from falling.

"I've got you," he said, entirely of a mind to tell his wife never to do something so reckless again.

"Tell me you love me," his wife murmured, and he found whatever words he thought to say faded. Those words never ceased to make him smile, and his grip tightened.

"I love you Sumia," he replied with a smile, burying his face into her hair. "But don't do that again. At least get Lissa to teach you how to use a staff first."

Someone cleared their throat just then. Chrom looked to see his younger sibling standing nearby. Lissa's nose and brow wrinkled, and tight fists burrowed into her hips. At once, realization began to dawn on him. He shook his head, amused at the image of his wife all but tearing his sister's staff out of her hands. In fact, he began to laugh at the idea, too overcome from the battle, the wound, and the look on the blond girl's face to do anything else.


	18. Trust

If Chrom could find a single word to describe the last few days, he would undoubtedly choose "unusual." The fact that he'd first consented to meet with Plegia, the hated enemy of his homeland, as an ally against Valm was odd enough. Meeting Robin's exact double at the side of the Plegian king was odder still. However, the strangest part of all was meeting his own child, his Lucina, from another time. Even after seeing Falchion tied to her belt and the brand of the Exalt within her eye, he could still barely believe his own eyes. An amused smile spread across his face as he recalled Robin and Sumia spotting them together. Why he should find it funny, considering the dark, dire future his daughter foretold, he could only guess; perhaps it was due to battle fatigue.

"What a day," he remarked to Sumia as he entered their tent. After another lengthy battle, he was more than ready to rest aching limbs and sore muscles. His wife, however, sat on the edge of the cot, unmoving, still dressed and staring down at the grass. "Not every parent gets to see their child fully grown while she's still in her crib," he added, unsure of what else to say. At the mention of their daughter, Sumia winced and turned her head away.

"Sumia, what's wrong?" asked Chrom, walking over to her. Cupping her cheek, he brought her eyes to his. "What is it?"

"Oh, Chrom, I'm sorry," she whispered, remorse thick in her voice. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm such a terrible wife, doubting you the way I did. How could I have thought...thought that...you...you and her?" Sumia looked as if she were going to be ill. An awkward cringe spread across Chrom's face as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Well," he said, his voice equally awkward, hoping he would not cause her more distress, "to be fair, finding our daughter has come back from the future is pretty hard to believe, and Lucina and I were alone. At least you only shredded a flower when you saw us; any other woman might have speared me." It was a poor attempt to lighten her mood, and Chrom knew it. Sumia only seemed to ignore him.

"What kind of wife am I, thinking you would be unfaithful? How can you even look at me?"

"Sumia," he replied, kneeling and taking her hand. "You did nothing wrong. Any woman would have thought the same."

"But I should have known you better. You'd step in front of a blade for me, and the first time I see you alone with another woman, I think you're going to leave me. How could I ever think so poorly of you? Oh gods, tell me you love me. Tell me-" Chrom stood and pulled her to her feet. Before she could say another word, strong arms wrapped around her.

"I love you, Sumia," he assured her, kissing the crown of her head. "I would never think of leaving you or even looking at another woman. Trust me," he added, brushing rough thumbs across her soft cheeks.

"What can I do to make it up to you?" Sumia asked, her voice soft. "I'll do anything. Whatever you want, I'll do it." Chrom shook his head and embraced her again.

"You don't need to make anything up to me."

"I...I don't deserve you," his wife answered. Chrom only smiled and brought his lips to hers. When he broke the kiss, his expression turned sober.

"No, I'm the one who doesn't deserve a woman as good as you."

And when they settled into the cot, Chrom held her close, silently reassuring her he would never leave her. In his arms, Sumia sighed a contented sigh.

"I do trust you, Chrom," she murmured. He smiled. Those words were all she needed to make it up to him.


	19. Stars

" _Come watch the stars with me_."

It was such a simple request and at the same time such a difficult one. In a life so long ago, Chrom would have enjoyed nothing more than to lie beside Sumia, staring up at the night sky. But tonight, he could not manage this one thing; this one easy thing. His wife spoke, but her words sounded distant. The occasional salty breeze felt as still air to Chrom. His mind lingered below with Robin, pouring over battle plans, discussing all manner of possible outcomes once they reached Valm. Even as the tactician bade him to follow her, all his thoughts remained on maps and strategies.

"Chrom," he heard Sumia say, nearer this time, but her voice was lost among the many questions still tumbling in his thoughts. Should they lie in wait aboard ship and lure the Valmese into a trap? Should they catch them by surprise with a sudden assault? Were their weapons in good condition? Did they have enough weapons? Would their provisions hold them? Chrom suddenly found himself being jostled, and he found himself staring up at his wife, her arms folded over her chest and a mix of concern and disapproval on her face.

Chrom only shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sumia," he said, standing to his feet. "I'm just not very good company tonight. I think I'll go back and discuss things with Robin."

"Chrom, you'll do no such thing."

"We're less than a day from Valm," objected her husband. "We need to be ready for battle the moment we land. After the last battle, I need to plan for everything."

Sumia sighed. "That battle is over. Stop thinking about it."

"I can't help it," said Chrom. "We're all lucky to be alive after that plan Robin devised."

"Robin's plan saved us all, and we didn't lose anyone."

"It was still too risky, and I agreed to it! Yes, it worked, ramming the Valmese ships after setting half our fleet on fire, but any of us could have been caught in that blaze. Besides, this was just a taste of what awaits us. I have to think about the battles to come, Sumia!" Chrom stepped back and sighed. "I'm sorry. That sounded harsher than I meant. Don't let this trouble you, Sumia."

"Oh, Chrom," she answered, kissing his cheek, "you're my husband. I'm supposed to let it trouble me." She walked behind him, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. Chrom had to admit he never tired of her touch. "I know you're worried, but it'll do you good not to think about battles for one night. Let's just enjoy the peace while we have it." She stood before him now and took him by the hand. Chrom tried to get his mind off her thumb gently rubbing over his knuckles. "Tell me you love me," she said at last.

"Sumia, of course I love you, and that's why I have to worry."

"Then," she began, her voice as gentle as her caress but still firm. It reminded Chrom of the times she'd tell him to rest. "Love me enough to stay with me. Love me enough to forget what could have been and not worry yourself over what might be. Love me enough to just watch the stars for a moment."

"Was that something out of your books?"

"No, Chrom, but it's something that will do you good. Don't carry your burden so much. Sometimes, it helps to forget about life for a while. Sometimes, it helps to just watch the stars. So, please, do this for me." She laid down once again and pulled on his arm. "Stay with me in this moment, and enjoy it. Don't think about battles or strategies. Just look up at the stars."

Chrom found himself unable to resist and at the moment, unwilling to try. Without another word, they looked up at the night sky and the stars flickering against the blackness. He had to admit the experience was rather soothing. A wry smile crept over his face, realizing Sumia was still the kind of woman who somehow managed to get her way when it came to him. He had few objections. She rested her head against his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around her, idly stroking her arm. The moments passed by without a single thought of sword or spear, and Chrom found himself quite content to stay there. The sky soon began to grow darker and darker.

* * *

Chrom found himself staring up at the faces of Robin, Frederick, and a giggling Lissa.

"Were you both up here all night, Your Majesties?" the dutiful knight asked. Chrom was at an entire loss for words.


	20. Distance

Five short paces thought Chrom as he sat on watch, half-starring at the small campfire. Only five paces separated him from his tent, from his cot, from the woman sleeping inside it. Try as he might, he could not keep his mind away from Sumia. The warmth of her breath lingered on his cheek, the touch of her naked foot against his leg still sent fresh shocks beneath his skin, even in its absence. He shivered, even in the mild spring air. And the longing, that endlessly aching need, filled his heart again.

"How long has it been?" he wondered. How much time had passed since he'd last felt soft skin pressed against him, since the sweat of Sumia's body mingled with his own, and he heard his name moaned into his ear? It hurt to consider how many nights his royal duties, his wife's pregnancy, and now this cursed war, had denied him such pleasures. While not one to indulge in fantasy, Chrom imagined them lying entwined beneath the stars on a soft bed of grass and earth, the flicker of firelight illuminating Sumia's pale flesh, enhancing her beauty, and his eager fingers and hungry lips following trails both old and new.

A flame sparked in his belly, spreading throughout his body, growing hotter by the minute. His eyes fell upon the tent. It was only five steps to his wife's side. Perhaps she would find the thought of a few moments of bliss romantic, like something out of her books. A wicked curl tugged at Chrom's mouth. He could do it. He could rouse her, whisper a few sweet words in her ear, and whisk her away to show her how hot his blood ran through his veins for her. Surely, Sumia longed for him as he did her. They could slip away, and the rest of the camp would not even know they were gone.

He paused before he could take a single step. Like a fickle wind, cold realization blew across his mind.

"But we can't," he sighed, looking around the camp, the sight of canvas tents cooling his blood and his heart. Now was not the time to entertain such notions, not with his allies gathered around. Frederick would surely come running. And even if he did not, this not the place. While they were far from any road, they were still within the Conqueror's borders, and until they had either deposed Walhart or slain him, Chrom could not afford distraction, no matter how pleasing. No, he needed to keep those thoughts distant. Only when this war had ended could he hold them near again. Only when peace returned to the world could he allow that flame to overtake his heart, his soul, and his body.

But oh, it pained him to push such thoughts away.

"Would it be easier if she weren't here?" Chrom asked as the few traces of heat dissipated. Would he still pine for her as he did now if she were far across the ocean; if she were home in Ylisstol? Would it grow worse without her lying at his side? He could not say, but perhaps he would have found it easier if she were not among the army.

The same petition Sumia made so many times echoed in his ear, as clearly if she were beside him now.

" _Tell me you love me."_

"I wish I could do better than that, Sumia," he murmured, unable to prevent his thoughts from becoming words, even if he spoke them to only the night. "I wish I could adore you the way I once did. I wish I could carry you off and show you how much I love you." If not for the war, he could have done just that.

It was only five steps to his tent, to his wife, but now, she seemed so far away, as far as the earth from the sky.


	21. Need

One kiss roused Sumia from her uneasy sleep; one light, feathery kiss on her brow, the same kiss he gave night after night. A shiver ran down her back as Chrom's warmth left her, and with each heavy step of booted feet that carried him away, a fresh chill shook her again. She reached for his departing silhouette, but her fingers found only the air. And with the rustle of fabric, he was gone leaving her with only the darkness overhead. Lying back down, Sumia squeezed her eyes shut, an aching, wistful sigh escaping her mouth.

"Oh, Chrom," she whispered, one hand drifting over her heart. Memories of a love that seemed so long ago floated into her mind, and warmth blossomed beneath her palm, flowing all across her body. A shuddering gasp accompanied the sparks she could still taste on his tongue. An impish grin curled at the thought of his rough, calloused, wonderful hands skimming across her skin, heat and thrilling ice in their wake. In her ears, a restless drumming pounded in time with the melodic cry of her name. Above all else, she remembered his eyes, blazing with love and, dare she even say it, lust for her.

Words, so many words, littered the tip of her tongue; words she could not even say even in the presence of her own husband. Her fingers clutched at her tunic, and she bit her lip.

How she could she tell him she longed to trace every curve of his firm, taut muscles that had filled her dreams even before their marriage and more so now? How could she tell him she desired, no needed him, to shower her with affections so overcoming they left her head swimming in a blissful fever. How could she admit that she wished to shower him with the same love, ten, fifty, a hundredfold more as she had once vowed?

How she could she tell him one simple kiss did not satisfy; that what he gave since before Lucina's birth was not enough?

Sumia threw the blanket aside, all ideas of sleep forgotten. With every pace, her mind darted back and forth. Should she speak? If she could confess her loneliness for his presence, surely she could confess any need. Perhaps, after all this time, he desired her as well. Or should she remain silent? What if he misunderstood? What if her words roused his anger? She cringed, recalling their argument when she carried Lucina in her womb? If only she had a flower, she might find her thoughts undivided, or perhaps, even petals could offer no guidance this time.

"Fortune or not," she muttered, "I have to tell him." She strode to the entrance of their tent and pulled the flap away. There Chrom sat before the campfire, shoulders tight, back hunched, and one hand covering his face. At once, the words, every unspoken thing she wished to say, vanished. Small barbs pricked her heart, just as the stiff grass poked the soles of her feet. Her blood, once blistering and boiling in her veins, ran cold. The knight-queen of Ylisse sighed and shook her head, ashamed of her own thoughts.

Who was she to burden him? Who was she to add to his troubles when he carried the worries of a nation and an army? If he could sacrifice so much to protect their homeland, she could put her meager needs aside.

"Sumia, what are you doing awake?" In an instant, she looked up. Sure enough, he was no longer staring at the campfire but at her with a concerned expression. Anxious nails scratched at her palms, and her toes dug at the ground. What could she say? What should she say?

"I…it's nothing, Chrom," she answered, her voice quiet. She turned back to their tent. "Tell me you love me," she added, hoping to find contentment in that familiar assurance. Except for the crackle and snap of burning twigs, she heard no answer. But then, strong arms encircled her, and a warm breath blew against her ear.

"Oh, Sumia," he whispered, his voice straining, as if he too held the same deep longing, "I love you so much. I…" he turned her around, and she let out a small gasp as his mouth covered hers. Her knees buckled at the kiss, a hungered, wonderful kiss. One hand tangled in her hair. Boldness bursting in her heart, she pressed her fingers to his chest, reveling in every contour beneath his shirt. She kissed him back, savoring his moan and answering in turn. And when she looked into his eyes, it was as if she saw own desire reflected.

"Can we?" she asked, though it pained her to say. She knew the answer, and the look of bitter regret on his face told her the rest. Chrom's hand settled on her cheek, her own hand slipping over it.

"When this war is over, Sumia," he said, his voice low and titillating, "I will do so much better."

And with one last kiss, they parted, he to his watch and she to their tent and the hope that the war would end quickly.


	22. Display

"Oh, Father, Mother, please," Lucina pleaded as their lips met. Chrom pulled away to find their daughter shielding her eyes behind her hand. Around the fireside, the other Shepherds gave similar reactions; some squirmed where they sat, others shook their heads or stared in utter shock at what they'd just witnessed. "Must you do that in front of everyone?"

"Yeah," Lissa exclaimed, "we're trying to eat here."

Chrom choked on the chuckle at the back of his throat, "Coming from you, Lissa, that's rich," he somehow managed to say. "Just how many schemes did you hatch over the last two years?" Romantic plots, he might add, that afforded he and Sumia opportunity to do more than merely kiss. His sister wrinkled her nose and plunged her fists into her hips.

"Well, you're both still making me and everyone else here sick."

"'Both of you'," scolded Maribelle, wagging a gloved finger. "It's proper to say, 'both of you are making me and everyone else here sick.' And," her gaze snapped to Chrom, and even he couldn't help but wince, "With all due respect, Your Majesty, she is entirely correct. This behavior is simply unacceptable."

"We just kissed," he protested. "People do that when they're married."

"What you and the queen do in your private lives is your affair, but it's not becoming of royalty to carry on with such a lack of discretion. What if we were in court; would you and the queen put on such a display?"

"Display," she said. Like flint to stone, the word sent a shower of sparks through Chrom's mind. He offered a hand to Sumia, a roguish grin etched over his face. Though she hesitated at first, she placed her hand in his with a nod, and he helped her to stand. They walked a few paces from the fire pit.

"Where are you two going?" he heard Maribelle call out, "My queen, if you'll permit me, I'll instruct you on how a lady of stature should act."

Just as Chrom hoped, the others watched with all the anticipation of a theater audience. If they wanted to see a display, who was he to deny them?

With a wink to Sumia, Chrom wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He dipped her back, and pressed his lips to hers a fervent kiss. From where the Shepherds had gathered, he heard groans and roaring laughter mingling together. While he could not be sure, Chrom also thought he heard Tharja muttering to herself. Soon enough, all sounds, even the crackle of the fire, grew faint and eventually faded. And when he pulled away, Chrom found himself lost in his wife's eyes, and he smiled.

What did he care what anyone else said? Did they not know, did they posses no comprehension of what marriage to Sumia was like? Did they not see the things she could do? With a single glance, she gave his heart wings, one touch could make it flutter, and if their lips met for even the briefest of moments, it soared as her Pegasus did. But it was more, vastly more, than that. In her presence, it did not matter if he resided in a war camp or a palace; both felt more like home. And in her arms, gazing into her eyes, he could both forget the world and see it with greater clarity.

How she did all this, he doubted he could ever say. Of all the mysteries in this world, he supposed one could remain unanswered. What he could say with utter certainty, however, was Sumia deserved all his appreciation for it. And so long as he had breath in his lungs and a ring on his finger, he would give her all he had.

"Tell me you love me," he said, stroking the back of her head.

"I love you," Sumia replied with a sunny smile before he kissed her again.

If anyone wished to watch, so be it; it was of no concern to him.


	23. Voices

" _Get up_ ," her spirit implored - a voice that had set her on her feet after many a fall; a voice Sumia now disregarded.

Lying at the base of some hill, a broken arrow buried in her side, a badly bruised if not bleeding head, and uncountable lesser injuries, how could she move much less stand? Scorching, searing pain raged through her body, burning away her strength; whatever remained seeped away with every drop of blood. And even if she could get to her feet, her Pegasus had carried her far, too far, from any friend.

" _Get up_ ," the voice urged again. " _Get up. You have to get up_."

Again, Sumia paid it no heed. She struck the ground, cursing her horse for fleeing, the Risen that shot her, and even the fortunes themselves. Most of all, she cursed her folly. She was the one who looked away. She was the one who screamed and frightened her steed. She was the one who couldn't keep a tighter grip on the reins or a boot in the stirrup. Hot tears pricked her eyes.

Like so many times before, she was the failure; she lived as a disappointment all her life, and now she would die as one.

" _Don't give in, Sumia_ ," another voice, Chrom's voice, called out, " _Just hold on a little longer_."

Sumia blinked back a tear. Deep within her soul, a tiny spark, a flicker of a flame, ignited. When that voice spurred her onward, how many times had she endured only for herself? She'd risen after numerous falls, achieved a place among the Shepherds, and even overturned the fortunes when they turned against her. And she'd done all of it for no one else but her. Now, when she had others who needed her, who cared for her, who loved her, she would simply give up hope?

How dare she even consider such a thing.

Carefully, she got to her hands and knees. If she had even the smallest measure of strength, she would endure for Lucina, for Lissa, for her beloved Chrom. Her side flared, and she bit her lip hard to stifle a scream. That minuscule effort alone stole her breath away, and the worst was yet to come. The taste of blood flooded her mouth as she rose. The world tilted one way then the other, and gods above, her head felt as if it would split open.

" _Keep going, Sumia_."

Though she wobbled on her feet, she was standing at last, but now came the hill, towering like a mountain over her.

While standing was agonizing enough, walking was nothing short of torturous. Each step sent a fresh burn through her side and a throbbing beat through her head. Try as she could to stop it, blood still spurted between her fingers. Bruised, aching limbs groaned in protest at the slightest use, and every breath filled her lungs with a scalding fume.

And still the top looked no closer. Sumia's knees buckled. She took in a deep gasp of air, though it only stoked the fire inside her chest, and she coughed. Her legs grew heavy. The world spun violently around her. Beads of sweat dripped down her brow, stinging her eyes. Despite the warmth of spring, a chill settled into her skin, growing colder by the moment. Worst of all, her vision began to flicker; hardly a favorable sign.

How much longer could she endure? How much pain could she withstand?

Chrom's voice came again, " _Just a little further. Don't give in now._ "

Gritting her teeth, she dragged her feet along. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the step ahead and the next to follow. She would hold her daughter again, and watch her grow into the woman who traveled with them. She would ruffle Lissa's hair, treating her as any sister would. Her eyes conjured the image of Chrom standing at the top of the hill. She would truly lay eyes on him and hear his voice again.

And at last, she reached the top. A grateful sigh passed her lips, and within her burning chest, her heart swelled.

But no sooner did she take another step than her strength dissipated. Her legs, unable to bear her any longer, gave out, and she could not even raise her hands to soften the fall. Pain exploded through her side, through every aching bruise, and she could not help but scream, fresh tears leaking from her eyes. And despite the flames overwhelming her senses, she shivered as bitter cold seeped into her bones. Her vision, once flickering, began to fade. She managed to spy a single flower blooming just ahead of her, but she needed no petals to tell her future, her fate now.

This godsforsaken Valmese field would serve as her grave.

A flapping sound circled overhead just then, beats too heavy for any bird. No, those wings belonged to a Pegasus or wyvern. Beneath her face, the earth began to vibrate; rapid footsteps and approaching hooves. A great terror seized her. What else could it be but an imperial patrol? Strong hands took hold of her and turned her over. Sumia could only pray that they would finish her now rather than keep her alive only for Walhart to order her death.

But to her shock and infinite relief, the face of her beloved Chrom stared down at her instead, warm, gentle hands finding her cheek.

"Sumia," he panted, "Oh gods, no." By now, the pain had begun to fade, and utter blackness was blotting out Chrom's face. Still, she managed a feeble smile; at least she'd seen him one last time, his presence proving a great comfort in her final moments. And with what meager measure of strength she held, she would hear one thing from him.

"Chrom," she whispered through trembling lips. "T-tell me you love me."

Then the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may know this from FanFiction.Net. For those who don't, it's bite-sized pieces of Chrom and Sumia's life during and after the events of Awakening, and each chapter includes the refrain. Please forgive the variations in chapter quality. I started this story back in 2015. Plus, at the time, I was writing it as a random timeline, but now, everything is in chronological order.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it so far.


	24. Silence

Surely, Chrom reasoned, he had nothing to fear.

After all, those versed in the healing arts could accomplish incredible things, and few were as adept as Libra. An arrow, a knot on the head, and a few bruises would have posed no challenge to him. Any moment now, Sumia would awaken.

Or would she? In the silence of the infirmary tent, that question resounded like the lingering toll of the tower bells. Why hadn't she stirred yet? Why did she still look so unnaturally pale? And for what reason did Libra remain mute? From the corner of his eye, Chrom glanced at this priest, his gaze focusing on his sober expression. What had happened during the healing? What was he so unwilling to say?

"She'll be all right, won't she?" It was a needless question; Sumia was in capable hands. Still, Libra's words would quiet his anxious thoughts, would drown out the nagging fear at the back of his mind.

But no words came. Not a sound filled Chrom's ears, except the increasing thump of his heart. And Libra's face showed no sign of changing; if anything, it grew all the grimmer.

Sumia will be all right, won't she? Chrom probed. Something was wrong; deep in his bones, he could feel it.

At last, the priest sighed, a sound loud as a thunderclap, "I don't know, Your Majesty. I've done all I can but..." A clatter of thoughts shouted in his mind. Would she be unfit to travel? Would she lose the ability to ride or wield her lance? Would she carry that wound for the rest of her days? Would it plague her with a lasting pain? While terrible, none of these possibilities merited such silence and sobriety. What, then, could he mean? Whatever was Libra hiding? What did he not wish to tell him?

Chrom's eyes went wide. His breath caught in his throat, and all other notions fell silent as another whispered over them; an idea that, on every sacred text, Chrom swore made his heart pause.

"Is she going to die?" Again, he looked to Libra, ears begging for answers, for assurance, for the slightest utterance of hope, and again the priest said nothing. "Damn it," he growled, neither willing nor able to bear the silence another moment. "Tell me my wife isn't going to die."

"I wish I could, Your Majesty, but it's the hands of the gods." His hand clasped Chrom's shoulder, though it held no warmth. "Don't lose heart. The gods are good." The pressure of his fingers withdrew, and the rustle of fabric announced his departure.

And as silence fell once more over the tent, two terrible words echoed in Chrom's ear.

If only.

If only he'd expected the Risen to attack. If only he hadn't lose sight of Sumia. If only he'd found her sooner. If only he'd thought to take Libra or Lissa with him.

If only he'd convinced her not to follow him to war at all, she would be safe and very much alive in Ylisstol. If only. If only.

"You can't leave me," Chrom pleaded. Whether or not his words reached Sumia, he could not say, though he hoped; oh, how he hoped. "I'll carry you wherever we go, I'll feed you every meal, I'll even climb the highest cliff for herbs to make you feel better if you just stay with me."

But only silence answered him, the same eerie, unearthly stillness of his family mausoleum. His vision blurred, though the image of Sumia lying on the ground never looked so clear. His arms, weak from the weight of her body, quivered. Beneath the weight of silence and sorrow, his legs wavered, and he sank to his knees beside the cot. He could not even find the strength to hold his head upright. Tears trickled from his eyes like the blood, drop by drop, from her side. How much longer would the gods give her, an hour, a few minutes, or even less?

"Chrom," Sumia's voice uttered, quieting his thoughts. Had she truly spoken, or was it only a trick of his itching ears? Looking up, his mouth dropped. Her eyes were open. Her head had turned towards him. "Chrom," she repeated.

"Yes, Sumia," he took her by the hand, "I'm here."

"I guess I really made a mess of things this time," she groaned. "Tell me you love me." At her request, his heart swelled within his chest. His eyes filled anew with tears. She sounded wearied and worn, but gods above, not even the sweetest serenade or loveliest lyric could compare to the beauty of her voice.

"Say that again, please." Sumia smiled, her hand squeezing his with as much might as she could muster.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he breathed, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. But only once seemed woefully inadequate, "I love you." He dotted kisses across her palm, her cheek, her brow, and wherever he could manage, and with his caress of his lips, he continued to utter those three words.

And with each time, he offered unspoken thanks that those words had not fallen silent this day.


End file.
